


The Benefits of Anonymity

by xenadragon_xoxo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dating, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-02 16:03:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1058789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenadragon_xoxo/pseuds/xenadragon_xoxo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter doesn’t like to admit it, but being rich <i>and</i> being the Wizarding World’s Most Eligible Bachelor has rendered him a desperate man for a date uninfluenced by his fame – which is why he signs up for an anonymous owlpost-based dating service. Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy, whose snake tattoo sort of turns off all potential suitors, definitely isn’t a desperate man – but there’s no need to completely shun the idea of making use of an anonymous owlpost-based dating service. Well. We all know where this is going, don’t we?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Benefits of Anonymity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [subtlefire (on Livejournal)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=subtlefire+%28on+Livejournal%29).



> To my dear E, thank you so much for the super-fast beta! Dear giftee, I tried to incorporate as many of your preferences into this fic as possible. I hope you like it!

Harry Potter couldn’t get a date. 

The statement probably made little to no sense, mainly because Harry Potter was the most eligible bachelor in the Wizarding World. He was fawned over by thousands of witches and wizards across London, his face was splashed over full pages of the _Daily Prophet_ , and he had, somehow, managed to become a recipient of _Witch Weekly_ ’s Most-Charming-Smile Award. Harry Potter had no reason to complain about his lack of popularity, because there was no lack, nor had he reason to complain about lack of interested parties, because saying that there was no lack of that would be an understatement.

Still, Harry Potter couldn’t get a date. He couldn’t get a date because he was too goddamn famous.

Once more, the above declaration appears to make so sense whatsoever. Surely a man so famous that he was often the topic of discussion of adolescent girls, respectable adults and story-telling parents alike, which involved several exaggerated tales of his vanquishing evil (and conquering women, apparently, which was something he’d never done, because truth be told, women weren’t really much in his area of preference), would have several people fighting to gain his affections. And it was true. In fact, Harry Potter had received approximately twelve thousand four hundred and thirty-five messages from admirers, nine thousand three hundred ninety-seven gifts (five thousand six hundred and twenty-two of which were spiked love potions), and at least six hundred and seventy-eight marriage proposals.

And yet, in spite of all that, Harry Potter still couldn’t get a date. What on earth did that say about him, he often wondered, worrying that he wasn’t quite smooth enough or didn’t have enough game to make it past the first few minutes of a dinner without becoming mindlessly bored or saying something incredibly thoughtless.

However, what Harry Potter’s lack of successful dates actually said about him was that he didn’t want to date a fan. He didn’t want to date someone so hopelessly infatuated with him that they were beyond capable of recognising his imperfections and the fact that he was, despite speculations, a rather ordinary human being. At least, as ordinary as one could be while being a Wizard, saving the world, and simultaneously juggling his reputations as the Wizarding World’s Golden Boy and also the Wizarding World’s Most Eligible Bachelor. 

“If you’re going to complain about it incessantly,” said Hermione one day when Harry voiced his woes to her and Ron for the thirteenth consecutive time, “then you might as well do something about it.”

“Like what?” Harry asked, half-sarcastically, because he really couldn’t see his way around this one, unless he Polyjuiced himself. He had, at some point, seriously considered taking the potion, but had promptly realised that he would probably have as much luck chatting someone up as Percy Weasley and dismissed the idea.

“Like a dating service,” Hermione replied.

Harry and Ron glanced at each other and burst into a fit of (manly) giggles.

“I’m serious,” Hermione said sternly, and the tone of her voice made Harry and Ron fall silent immediately, because both of them had been on the receiving end of her wrath before and neither wanted a repeat performance. “There’s a respectable one called Matchmakers Anonymous, and it’s completely owlpost-based. You send them your information, they set you up with someone, and you write each other. If you lose interest, you ask to be paired with someone else. It’s really remarkably simple, and the person on the other end gets to know who you really are, not judge you based on your name.”

Ron started laughing again. “Blimey, Hermione. I don’t think Harry’s that desperate.”

Hermione shrugged. “Well, I was just making a suggestion.”

“What did you say this agency was called?” Harry asked suddenly.

Ron stared at him.

“Not that I’m interested, or anything,” Harry added hastily. “I’m just –”

“Matchmaker’s Anonymous,” Hermione repeated. “That’s the name.”

“Thanks,” Harry said.

Ron was still staring at him. “Harry, mate,” he began hesitantly. “You’re not going to –”

“Of course not,” Harry replied.

Ron breathed a sigh of relief. “Good.”

***

Draco Malfoy couldn’t get a date.

Why was he so not surprised?

It wasn’t just the faded Dark Mark on his left arm that sent every single fetching guy he fancied rushing out the door, it was also the fact that he was, apparently, cold and aloof towards his partners. Not that he believed any of that rubbish about his being unfeeling. He was most certainly very feeling, and felt lots of things. For example, he sometimes felt that the weather was far too cool for his liking, or he often felt that certain people shouldn’t be allowed to open their mouths if only rubbish came out of them. 

“That isn’t what I meant, darling,” Pansy always told him reproachfully when he expressed these thoughts to her. “And you know it.”

To be honest, there weren’t any legitimate reasons, aside from the Wizarding World’s persistence in clinging to the past, that Draco Malfoy couldn’t get a date. He was a well-known teacher and owned his own Potions tutoring centre, and if his earnings were enough to buy him a brand new cashmere outfit every other week, then it certainly couldn’t be said that he was scant in the money area. If people were willing to trust him with their kids, why couldn’t they just trust him with their hearts?

Well, when put that way, perhaps it didn’t sound so unreasonable.

The point was, Draco Malfoy was more than capable of being a long-term partner, or even having a little indulgent fling that involved frivolous spending and spontaneous trips around the world. He wasn’t half-bad looking, either, if he did say so himself. Really, it wasn’t for lack of appealing attributes.

Still, Draco Malfoy couldn’t get a date, and deep down, a part of him understood why.

Actually, he stood corrected – Draco Malfoy _did_ get dates. The problem with the dates he got was that they lasted approximately thirty minutes, or the exact amount of time it took for Draco to forget that he was supposed to keep his left arm concealed beneath the table or a jacket. The only time any of his dates ever lasted past the hour mark was when he wore a long-sleeved grey button-down. He’d been suave enough to be allowed to take the guy home, only to send him running off with a hasty apology the second he took off his shirt and flashed the damn mark. Even after Voldie was gone, the snake-eyed madman was still somehow managing to ruin Draco’s life.

“Aren’t you being just a tad dramatic?” Astoria asked him when he vented his frustrations to her. “It isn’t the end of the word, you know, not getting a date.”

“Easy for you to say,” Draco snorted. Not only was Astoria free of any weird skull-snake tattoos, she was also extremely attractive with her long locks of brown hair and smouldering dark eyes. Draco would almost say she was more attractive than him. Almost. Plus, the lucky bird had at least ten potential dates from both sexes just lining up eagerly outside her door in hopes that she would give them a second glance. She had no right to talk, really, no right at all.

“What do you mean by that?” she asked, frowning in that way that made a little crinkle appear between her eyebrows, which Draco knew would get a lot of boys on their knees, but only succeeded in making him roll his eyes (this might be due to the fact that he was just a teeny tiny bit jealous of her; not that he’d ever admit it, of course).

“I mean,” Draco began, smirking. “It’s almost repulsive how many men you have grovelling at your feet, and how you indulge every single one of them by letting them take you out. I wouldn’t have bothered. I’d be careful, if I were you...a few more, and I’d have to liken you to a slut.”

Astoria huffed impatiently. “And what if I did go out with _a few more_?” she demanded. “It’s my life, after all, and my body.” She seated herself easily in the sofa across his armchair, lifting her long legs onto it and folding them gracefully beneath her. “You’re simply envious that I can get laid and you can’t.”

“Watch it,” Draco growled, not because she was getting dangerously close to the truth or anything, but because her accusations were definitely, completely, utterly one hundred and fifteen percent false and didn’t have a smidgen of fact in them. Really. “At least I can keep my legs closed for longer than a few hours.”

Astoria snorted in a most unladylike manner that was in perfect contrast to her appearance and pulled a disgusted face. “That is more than I ever want to know about your sex life,” she said. “Anyway, if you’re going to be an annoying little prick about it, why don’t you find a solution to the problem instead of wallowing in your own self pity and whinging for someone else to do it for you?”

“There _is_ no solution to the problem,” Draco argued. “I’m not going to cover up my mark just to get in someone’s pants. I’m not _that_ desperate.” There was, of course, not a single trace of a whine in his voice. None at all.

“Yet,” Astoria added, laughing. “Anyway, there’s always a solution, if you bothered to look hard enough. In fact, the other day, Parkinson was just telling me –”

“You were talking to Pansy again?” Draco very nearly shouted, half-shooting up off his seat. 

“Stop being a baby,” Astoria reprimanded, giving Draco a warning glare. “I can talk to whoever I wish, just as I can date whoever I wish.”

“But you don’t even _like_ her!” Draco yelled. 

“I can act maturely and accordingly, even around people I dislike,” Astoria rebutted coolly. “Unlike you.”

Draco would have to give her that, but he wasn’t going to give up so easily. “At least I don’t put on pretences.”

Astoria stared at him for a good few seconds before bursting into peals of laughter. “Are you serious?”

Draco scowled. He must be some sort of masochist for allowing himself to befriend someone who never failed to keep him in check. Not that his ego wasn’t inflated enough as it was, and not that he didn’t need anyone to ground him, because he did. If asked, he would deny it, of course, but he was rather grateful for her.

“Aw, the poor petulant child,” Astoria smirked. “Anyway, if you’re still interested, Parkinson and I were discussing anonymous dating services.”

“Dating services?” Draco snorted. “As if either of you have any use for them, Pansy especially.” He heaved a sad little sigh that was definitely in no way even remotely childish. “Straight men are so easy.”

Astoria chuckled, then grew more serious. “But it would be nice, wouldn’t it, to get to know someone without meeting them, or knowing how they look like?”

“Doesn’t that sort of defeat the purpose?” Draco asked, furrowing his brow sceptically.

“Be as narrow-minded as you like,” Astoria said defiantly. “I think it’s fantastic. You aren’t going to get caught up in the other person’s appearance – you’ll fall for their personality, and you get to know them without the hassle of first impressions and such.”

“ _Pansy_ talked to you about this?” Draco asked incredulously. “She’s got as much personality as –”

“Be nice,” Astoria warned. “She puts up with a lot of shite from you. Anyway, I was considering giving it a shot. What do you think?”

“You seem to be doing fine on your own,” Draco replied sulkily.

“Well, I’m not,” Astoria said sternly. “Dating a total of ten boys in three months, six who were only dating me for my looks, two who were turned off by any remote amount of intelligence that I displayed, and one who wouldn’t except the fact that I wasn’t interested in shagging him on the first date, is _not_ ‘doing fine’.”

“I’d trade places with you any day,” Draco shot back.

Astoria groaned. “You men are insufferable,” she snapped. “All you ever think about is sex.”

Draco was not going to bother to respond to that, because in his case, it was occasionally true. “You mentioned nine of those men,” he said. “But you said ten boys.”

“The other one wasn’t so bad, but he just wasn’t interested in a second date,” Astoria said. “That happens sometimes, you know. People don’t always click.” She stood up, smoothing her dress down as she did so. “Anyway, I’m going to go sign up for that dating service so they can send me their questionnaire. Have you got any spare parchment?”

“You’re going to do it now?” Draco demanded.

Astoria had already found a stack of paper and was scribbling away. “As good a time as any. Besides, my owl’s a little sick and I need to borrow yours.”

Draco rolled his eyes and waved an arm for her to continue. Somewhere halfway through her letter, Astoria crumpled it and started again.

“Don’t waste my parchment,” Draco protested feebly. Not that he couldn’t afford it or anything – he just liked being difficult.

“Shh,” Astoria replied. “There. I’m done. You can shut up now.”

“Charming,” Draco responded as Astoria attached the letter to his owl and sent it flying out the window. “What, you’re going already?” he added as she reached for her handbag.

“I don’t think I can stop myself from killing you for a second longer,” she responded. “See you later! I’ll see myself out.”

“Whatever,” Draco muttered as she closed the door behind her. He got up to clear off the scrunched up parchment she had discarded, but curiousity got the better of him and he unfurled the paper to read what she had written. If he was expecting something saucy and devious, or at least something even remotely interesting, he was rather disappointed. The parchment simply read, in Astoria’s neat script,

_Dear Matchmakers Anonymous,_

_My name is Astoria Greengrass and I would like to sign up for your services. Please do_ ,

before it was cut off when she had stopped writing to reach for another piece of paper. 

Matchmakers Anonymous, huh? If anything, the name was hardly creative, but for some reason, Draco elected to commit it to memory before tossing it into the fire.

***

It was the morning after his meeting with Ron and Hermione when Harry Potter signed up for Matchmaker’s Anonymous. 

Mind you, he didn’t do it out of desperation (or at least, that was what he told himself). Instead, he was simply giving it a go out of curiousity (he’d convinced himself). After all, he’d always been the type to investigate, and just one go wouldn’t hurt (he hoped).

Also, when had Hermione ever been wrong? Perhaps it was about time he paid attention to the advice she gave him (once more, Harry Potter was only telling himself this to convince himself that he was not, to any extent, even remotely desperate).

If Harry had expected signing up to be simple, he was definitely let down. The questionnaire consisted of at least twenty-five questions regarding his appearance and personal information (Height? Eye colour? Hobbies? Occupation?) as well as probably fifty more personality test questions (If you were to be trapped in a Warded building for a week, what would you bring with you? What’s your favourite dragon and why? If you could only use one spell for the rest of your life, what would it be?), and then there was an entire scroll filled with questions about his personal preferences for a partner (What blood purity do you prefer? What’s the biggest deal breaker? Should s/he share your interests?). Harry had ended up scratching out majority of the questions of the latter only to feel guilty later, magically remove the messy scrawling, and answer the questions properly (not that his writing improved much – what they said about a Healer’s handwriting was true).

Speaking of which, it should probably be mentioned that Harry worked as a Healer in St. Mungo’s, which didn’t exactly allow him a lot of opportunity to meet new people, unless you were into people with objects stuck up their noses or patients who thought they were lampshades. Even if that happened to be your kink, you’d also have to risk breeching the rules regarding professionalism in a Healer-patient relationship. As much as he wanted some company, Harry wasn’t nearly desperate enough to do that.

Not that he didn’t enjoy being a Healer. It was probably the most rewarding thing he’d ever decided to do with his life. Being an Auror seemed to be his obvious route, probably due to the innate hero complex he had which he had been forced to grudgingly admit to after Hermione’s many comments about his need to constantly help other people, but being a Healer made him feel as if he was serving a purpose. Plus, he loved seeing his patients get better.

Sometimes, they didn’t, though. Not every one of his patients healed. Some passed on beyond the veil, and there was nothing Harry could do to keep them here. He hadn’t had many patients who didn’t make it because he was still one of the newer Healers, but he’d seen more than enough to almost become accustomed to the unbearable pain in his chest and the minute drop in temperature of his heart each time he knew a case was out of his hands.

Almost, but not quite.

Getting back to more pleasant subjects (or, in this case, more tedious than pleasant), Harry was still trying to complete the questionnaire later that evening with an entire stack of paperwork sitting in front of him.

“What’ve you got there?” Ron asked, a frequent visitor to Harry’s humble abode, hovering over Harry’s table as he struggled to fill out each and every single inquiry.

“Nothing,” Harry lied, shoving the form under a pile of paperwork.

Ron made a grab for the parchment, and Harry shoved him away, resulting in a few seconds’ tussle. Eventually, Ron managed to wrestle the piece of paper out of Harry’s grip, and Harry had no choice but to let him, seeing as he didn’t want to severely damage the application.

Ron scrutinised the questionnaire for all of three seconds before bursting out, “I thought you said you weren’t –”

“Shh!” Harry snapped, glancing around. It was a reflex action, bred from many years of being around Ronald Weasley, who had a knack for saying the wrong things at the worst times (and usually when there was an entire company of people within earshot). Luckily, seeing as they were in the comforts of Harry’s quiet home, no one was actually around to notice their brief struggle or Ron’s untimely outburst.

“But I thought you weren’t –”

“I’m not.”

“Then why – ”

“Shh!” Harry shushed him, embarrassed now.

Ron was staring at him with a mixture of bemusement and horror. Harry was just about ready for his best mate to turn maroon and start bellowing, but Ron did the exact opposite – he doubled over in loud, undignified laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Harry demanded, considerably indignant that his already dreadful humiliation in front of a crowd of non-existent people was being intensified by Ron’s snorting, which was always guaranteed to attract quite a bit of unwanted attention. Not that there was anyone actually around to attract, whether the attention was wanted or not. Which brought Harry back to where he started – applying for a bloody dating service to get himself, and not the guy with the lightning bolt etched across his forehead, some attention.

“The...the...the great...Harry Potter...” Ron was clutching at his stomach, barely able to get coherent words out through his snickers. “...needs a dating service to get laid!”

Mortified, Harry grabbed the form from Ron’s hands and stuffed it back under his official paperwork. “It’s not that,” Harry said, and the serious tone of his voice made Ron stop laughing and listen to him properly. “I just can’t stand people going out with me for my fame or my money or whatever. If I do this anonymously first, then I’d have a better chance of finding someone who likes me for me, and not for all those other stuff.”

“I totally get that, mate,” Ron conceded. “But...still...” And then he dissolved into laugher again.

Harry huffed impatiently and bent his head back over his work. He would fill in the damn questionnaire later, when he wouldn’t be disturbed by cackling best mates.

***  
It took about three days for Draco Malfoy to make his decision to sign up for Matchmakers Anonymous. 

Mind you, he didn’t do it because he needed to, because he really didn’t. He was sure that if he spent enough time searching, he’d eventually find someone who was willing to ignore the fact that he had once been a Death Eater. He really didn’t need this, not at all, not in the slightest (he reminded himself of this constantly when he was mailing his sign-up, repeating it like a mantra in his head). He simply figured that there was no harm in trying. Besides, it sounded like fun. Sort of.

The questionnaire that was sent to him certainly surprised him, as it contained an innumerable amount of incredibly detailed inquiries, but he liked details and the fact that he could be as specific as he liked, which is why he gladly filled in each one. He found the personality-type questions to be slightly tedious, as there was no logic in them whatsoever (if he was really idiotic enough to get stuck in a Warded building for a week, he deserved to die of boredom, and what the fuck did dragons have to do with any of this?), but he answered each one tirelessly anyway with his firm, steady cursive that was rumoured to be the most intimidating writing ever used.

Not that Draco really needed to be intimidating when he was teaching or marking papers with that handwriting of his, anyway. His students were all fantastic, and although there had been a few rebels who doubted him as a result of his past, he had gained their respect relatively easily and thoroughly enjoyed working with them. He understood, sort of, that people had a right to have reservations about his background, and he also was aware that respect should be something earned and not given for free. Too many free things were taken for granted, and he didn’t want respect to be one of those things.

Needless to say, Draco loved being a teacher. It had shocked every single one of his friends when he turned out to be good with kids, and to be honest, it had shocked him, too. Who would have thought that the Slytherin who found all sorts of complaining and childishness insufferable and preferred bullying to even attempting civility would have been an excellent teacher? Perhaps it was his inner kid’s fault. Astoria constantly reminded him that he often acted like a child, anyway.

He was halfway through the questions regarding his personal preference for a partner (true to his Slytherin nature, he’d just filled in eye colour as green or silver; not that he actually preferred either of those colours above the others – at least, he thought he didn’t, but for some reason he felt particularly partial to green right about now) when he was interrupted by the sound of his office door being thrown violently open in the most feminine way possible. Without looking up, Draco already knew who the culprit was – only one person he knew had such a pink-sugar-and-diamond-coated yet terrifyingly predatory manner that he would compare to that of a lioness if he didn’t fear for his life at insinuating that she resembled a Gryffindor symbol. 

“Good evening, Pansy,” Draco said, not glancing away from the form on his desk.

“Evening, Draco, darling,” Pansy trilled, and Draco could hear her draping her fur coat over the back of one of his chairs.

“Is there a good reason you’re intruding on a work night?” he questioned, making his voice snippy, although he knew it would have little to no effect on her.

“Oh, Dray, you break my heart,” Pansy sighed dramatically, collapsing into another chair. “I just wanted to tell you about this lovely time I had with Lucian Bole. He took me to a fabulously posh restaurant for lunch and bought me gelato after. Oh, he’s _such_ a dream. You remember him, don’t you? He was a Beater –”

“He’s bent,” Draco said shortly, not pausing in his writing.

Pansy abruptly stopped talking. “Pardon?” she demanded.

“He’s bent.” Draco put down his quill to pinch the bridge of his nose. When he looked up, Pansy was staring at him.

“What?” she screeched.

“Careful, careful!” Draco snapped. “I value my hearing.”

Pansy ignored him. “What did you say he was?”

“Bent. A pouf. A pounce. Gay.” When Pansy was still unresponsive, he rolled his eyes, averted his gaze back to his work, and went on, “Limp wristed. Pillow biter. Rectal pioneer. Arse bandit. Cock –”

“Salazar, you don’t have to get graphic! Or carried away,” Pansy snapped, having come out of her brief daze. “And how would you know?”

“Shagged him once at Hogwarts. He begged me not to tell on him,” Draco smirked. “I’d advice dropping him, unless you want problems later on in life.”

Pansy groaned. “I thought he was the first Slytherin gentleman I’d ever met.”

“Hey,” Draco protested.

“Lucian’s a _fairy_!” Pansy moaned, sounding ashamed of herself. “And I chose him over Cassius Warrington –”

“ – who has a long-term girlfriend in Ireland,” Draco cut her off. “Salazar, you sure know how to pick ‘em.”

Pansy sat up straight and glared at him before relenting and slumping back into the seat. There was a few moments’ silence before she questioned, “What are you doing?”

Draco looked up at her. She seemed more than a little morose, but her interest had been piqued by Draco’s immersion in his work. “Filling out an application questionnaire.”

“For what?”

“Matchmaker’s Anonymous,” Draco responded, turning his focus back on the form.

Pansy was silent for a while before she started cackling madly. Draco was about to start fearing for her sanity when she choked out, “Good ol’ Story. I knew she’d manage to convince you.”

It took a moment for Draco to understand who she was referring to. “Your incessant need to present everyone with appalling nicknames confuses me.” Then he realised the full brunt of her sentence and demanded, “What do you mean, manage to convince me?”

“Ooh, she did it subtly, did she?” Pansy grinned. “Where’d you find the dating service’s name, hmm?”

Draco frowned. “It was on her first draft of her letter that she crumpled and –” He cut himself off. “Damn it.” Astoria was far too manipulative for his liking.

Pansy chuckled. “Well, I’ll leave you to your signing up, then,” she trilled. “I know you have a class in fifteen minutes, anyway. See you later, darling!”

Draco groaned to himself. Why were all his friends Slytherins?

***  
By the time Harry finally sent the application form out, he had used plenty of his free time to think about his decision and to fret about it. After much deliberation, he decided that yes, he did want a date, so yes, he was going to do this (not that he was desperate, of course, remember that!). It might even be fun.

The truth was, Harry really wasn’t all that desperate. It was like what he said to Ron – he was craving a date that wasn’t overshadowed by the fact that he was the goddamned Golden Boy or whatever it was they were calling him these days. He hated the fact that almost everyone he went out with seemed to have fallen in love with the idea of him, and not who he actually was. Admittedly, Harry also sometimes felt as though anyone who went out with him expected far too much out of him, envisioning golden bursts of splendour or something like that. Truth was, Harry was just an ordinary guy. It was rather unfortunate that not many people realised that.

Well, if being the youngest official Healer ever counted as ordinary. While his peers had gone through the standard training procedures, Harry had performed exceedingly well during a preliminary examination and shot straight up to the higher levels of the training programme while his fellow trainees were still filling out standard test papers. For someone who had been awful at Healing Charms for most his life, he seemed to have a knack for the job. He’d only been working for two years, but Harry had already gained quite the reputation for his work. 

Really, couldn’t he be normal for just once?

“Morning, Healer Potter!” 

Harry glanced up and smiled at a dreamy-eyed Miss Lovegood. Luna had been volunteering at the hospital for half a year. At least, she had started out as a volunteer six months ago when the remaining Death Eaters launched an explosive attack on the rehabilitation work being done in Knockturn Alley. She was the only one of the volunteers who had stuck around ever since. As far as Harry knew, she wasn’t paid for her services, but every single patient loved her, and she had a Pollyanna-esque effect on even the crabbiest of their residents. Personally, Harry was extremely glad that Luna was around. Not only did she make grumpy patients easier to deal with, she was also very good at causing diversions when Harry was feeling suffocated by all the attention he was given and needed to step out. He hoped she’d never leave, although it was wishful thinking.

“Hi, Luna,” he grinned. “How’s your morning going?”

“Oh, very well,” she responded. “I was just talking to Mr Fletcher about Umgubular Slashkilters. He seemed very interested in them.”

“That’s...great,” Harry allowed.

“I’m sorry, Harry, but I have to go,” Luna said. “Mrs Lorelei wants to see me. I expect she wants to ask me about Nargles again. Goodbye, Harry! I’ll see you at lunch!”

“Right. Bye, Luna,” Harry called as she skipped off. He smiled and shook his head to himself before grabbing his clipboard and hurrying off to check on some of his patients. 

“Good morning, Mrs Archer,” Harry said cheerily as he entered one of the wards. “How are we feeling today?”

Mrs Archer glared at him. “It is _not_ a good morning at all, Healer,” she said coolly, flicking her blond hair back as she glanced up at him ruefully. “I’ll have you know that I’ve had to cancel several more beauty appointments that are an absolute necessity because you will not allow me to leave!”

“You’re just recovering, Mrs Archer,” Harry soothed, smiling genially. “You’ll be out of here by the weekend, I assure you. If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask.” 

“Mm,” she grumbled, and Harry smiled at her once more before making a note on his clipboard and discreetly calling a nurse to administer some sort of muscle relaxant because he’d noticed that she was favouring her right arm again.

“Morning, Mr Summers,” Harry said as he entered one of the recovery rooms. “I trust we’re feeling much better than yesterday?”

“Oh, yes, indeed, Healer,” Mr Summers replied. His voice was slightly muffled and it was clear that he was still having difficulty moving his mouth, but he spoke nonetheless. “I can’t thank you enough.”

Harry chuckled. “All in a day’s work, Mr Summers,” he assured. “You rest up now.” Harry loved seeing his patients get better. It was more thanks for him to see the people he’d Healed improve steadily and go back to living their normal lives than to hear gratitude expressed several times.

Harry worked on the fourth floor of St. Mungo’s and specialised in Spell damage, and it was a regular routine of Harry’s to check on all his patients first thing in the morning. He only accepted appointments that came after the first hour of the work day, thus ensuring that he could make all his rounds before dealing with new patients. Every morning, just before settling down in his room to await consultations, his last stop was always the Janus Thickey Ward. This morning was no different.

The sterile smell of disinfectants and the faint tingle of magical Protective Spells was the first thing Harry always noticed about this special ward. It had been expanded over the past few years since the war to accommodate more patients, especially after more and more were required to be admitted. Cures were found for some of them. Others were not so lucky. 

Harry only had two patients here. One was Agnes, the same woman who he had met for the first time in fifth year when he was visiting Mr Weasley. Healer Miriam Strout, who had taken Harry under her wing when he was sent to more advanced training sessions two years ago, had deemed Agnes as Harry’s responsibility to give him experience in caring for these types of cases. She was about forty years old now, and her son hadn’t visited her in three years. Harry had grown rather fond of Agnes.

The second patient was Shanon, a woman who had been admitted at around the same time Harry became an official Healer. She had been hit by a spell that caused her to age at an incredibly fast rate, but not consistently. Some weeks she would remain pretty much stagnant, others she would seem to leap a decade through. Shanon had been his first ever patient, but the spell cast on her was clearly irreversible, and as hard as Harry tried, he couldn’t cure her. He’d blamed himself, first, but after a while, he’d come to accept the fact that it wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t save everybody, even if he tried. 

Shanon would be celebrating her twenty-third birthday in three weeks. She currently resembled a woman with an age of seventy years.

“Good morning, Agnes,” Harry smiled. “How are we feeling today?”

Agnes barked in greeting, and sounded quite happy, so Harry decided she was feeling good.

“Good morning, Shanon,” Harry said, turning to the bed in the farthest corner of the ward. “How about you?”

“Never better,” she croaked, smiling, and Harry tried to reduce the ache in his chest. “And you, young man?”

Harry chuckled. “Very well, thanks.”

The door to the ward opened and Luna poked her head in. “Harry, there’s been an owl here for you.” She held out a long, thin envelope.

That definitely surprised Harry. He hadn’t received an owl at work in a long time. “Thanks, Luna,” he smiled.

“No problem, Harry!” she replied before closing the door again and humming as she walked off.

“She’s really a character, isn’t she?” Shanon said indulgently. Agnes barked her agreement.

Harry turned the letter over in his hands. It was addressed to him in what could only be described as crisp, efficient handwriting (not that he had any experience in that area) that he didn’t recognise, but he already knew the contents. He ripped open the seal on the back and removed a long piece of card.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_Congratulations! You have been successfully paired up. You will find the postal address of your match enclosed in this letter. Please do not hesitate to write to us if you find that your match is not to your satisfaction._

_Thank you for choosing Matchmakers Anonymous! We wish you the best of luck!_

Harry wasn’t sure if he was excited about this news or not. Either way, he pocketed his letter and waved goodbye to Agnes and Shanon. He’d deal with his new “match” after he was finished with his daily appointments.

***

Draco sent out his application a few days after he started it. He’d actually finished it a while ago, but had simply taken a few moments to reconsider his decision before making it fully. Again, it wasn’t as if he really needed this. It was just that he shouldn’t shun the idea of a dating agency completely. Lots of people had met useful acquaintances and potential partners through such means. Surely he might be just as lucky. 

When he finally did send it off, he had managed to convince himself that he wasn’t at all desperate and was just trying out a new method since other ones weren’t working for him. He was still turning this thought over in his head when his first class of the day began.

“Good morning, everyone!” Draco smiled as his students filed into his classroom. He’d been lucky enough to land this shop outlet in Diagon Alley to convert into a learning environment, and his class was equipped with cauldrons, tools and ingredients so that less fortunate children didn’t need to buy their own. He’d done quite well, if he did say so himself.

A chorus of greetings wafted back to him. This particular class scheduled every Monday and Thursday was meant for children aged nine. Draco wasn’t one for favouritism, but he had a soft spot for these sessions with this age group.

“Today, we’ll be doing a Forgetfulness Potion,” Draco informed his students. “This is one of the easiest potions to brew, but it requires some wand waving, which I will do for you. You will complete the first half of the potion that I’ve written on the board, and then you will raise your hands for me to come and complete the next step for you. After that, you will complete the potion and call me once more to finish it up. Questions?” One hand shot up into the air and Draco nodded. “Yes, Rob?”

“What’s a...Lethe River...water?” the young boy asked, referring to one of the ingredients Draco had written on the board. Draco was exceedingly fond of the dark-haired, blue-eyed child. Rob had been injured in one of the many rogue Death Eater attacks a few years after the war, and as a result, he had a slight speech impediment that caused him to have to take long pauses between some of his words. Still, he’d been fixed up very well and Draco had taken pleasure in watching him improve over the weeks.

“It’s just water taken from Lethe River,” Draco replied. What he didn’t say was that it was believed that souls drank from the river before being reincarnated so as to forget their past lives. These kids didn’t need to know that. Besides, if he told them and they mentioned it to their parents, he’d probably get sued. “Any more questions? No? Well then, you’ll find all the ingredients needed in front of you. Remember not to taste the potion at any time!” he added sternly. “You may begin.”

There was a slight bustle as the kids began to look for their Valerian sprigs, and then work commenced. Draco loved watching the little pioneers completing their tasks. There was so much enthusiasm and eagerness that Draco couldn’t help being in a good mood.

He checked the clock. In five minutes, he’d walk around the class to check how everyone was doing. Right now, he was content to just –

A loud, almost rude tapping shattered the sound of rummaging, and Draco glanced up to see a small owl knocking its beak insistently against the window. The children were instantly distracted, and Draco understood why – he’d never received any form of post while at work before.

Draco got up and let the owl in. It swooped over the children’s heads and landed with a flourish on his desk. Draco couldn’t help rolling his eyes. Great. An owl with dramatic tendencies. Just what he needed. He hurriedly untied the letter attached to the owl’s leg and shooed it back out the window before it started demanding treats.

“What’s that, Teacher Draco?” Rob asked.

“Who’s it from?” Clarice, a girl with an extremely loud giggle but exceptional talent, piped up.

Draco sighed. Might as well indulge them. As if he could stop himself from doing so on an ordinary basis anyway. “Let’s see, shall we?” he asked, and he turned the envelope over, carefully prying open the seal and neatly opening it, sliding a thin piece of card out of it. He straightened it out and started reading in a theatrical voice, “Dear Mr. Malfoy, congratulations! You have been successfully paired...” 

Draco paused, trailing off. Well, that was no way he was going to finish reading _that_.

“Don’t stop, go on!” someone complained.

Draco smirked. “Tell you what. I’ll read it out to all of you... _after_ you’ve finished your Forgetfulness Potions. How does that sound?” There was a collective groan that made Draco chuckle. Hopefully by the end of class, he’d have come up with a reasonably faked letter to appease his crowd of students.

When he looked up, everyone was still staring at him. He waved a hand airily.

“Well? Go on now! Chop chop!”

All the nine-year-olds in the room hurriedly bent over their cauldrons and Draco retreated to his desk to come up with something to tell them when they were done.

***

Harry Potter had made several life-threatening and decidedly bad decisions in his life (deciding to study Divination, not taking Occlumency seriously and letting Gilderoy Lockhart mend his arm were a few examples), so he was used to having to endanger himself and a few others when he made the wrong choices without a clear head. He figured that being a Healer who could make split-second decisions in an operating room to save lives was a reasonable balance to the other horrible things he’d chosen to do before, so he didn’t mind his lack of foresight on most occasions.

Now, however, Harry was seriously starting to regret singing up for Matchmakers Anonymous. 

His first “match” was a complete disaster. Of course, Harry hadn’t expected everything to be perfect the first time, but this was plain ridiculous. His so-called match had gotten extremely offended when Harry mentioned that he’d grown up around Muggles and had immediately called it off.

If Harry thought he was off to a bad start, he hadn’t seen anything yet. His second “match” would write of nothing but himself and his mom, which Harry took as a bad sign and politely declined his offer to bring Harry to meet her. The third one was so busy expressing his disgust at the “horrible health facilities” available in the Wizarding World that Harry didn’t want to reveal that he was a Healer, and the fourth wanted to start sending “sex-letters” after their second exchange. There was also a fifth, who refused to tell Harry what he preferred to be called and therefore made writing extremely difficult. This was a dating service, for fuck’s sake. Just because it was meant to be anonymous didn’t mean that you couldn’t at least leave an initial.

It took about seven more pairs, meticulously done by the dating agency (or sloppily, because Harry was starting to think that the entire questionnaire was worth naught) before Harry was written to by a man who instantly interested him. Harry wasn’t sure how handwriting could be attractive, but this man’s certainly was – it was a neat, steady cursive that could almost be called decorative but was far too firm to be deemed such a characteristic. It was also, somehow, oddly familiar, as if Harry had seen the writing before but was only paying attention to it now. The letter was also voiced pleasantly and wasn’t in the least bit pushy, which Harry liked. It ran as such:

_Hello,_

_I’ve been given your postal address and told that you are my current match. Let me start by saying that it is truly a pleasure to get to meet you; well, perhaps not face-to-face, and only in writing, but one step at a time, I suppose._

_My name is Drake and I am a Potions teacher. I am halfway between twenty and thirty and mostly spend my evenings reading by the fire. My hobbies include writing, travelling, and, of course, reading. One of my favourite things to do is to engage in intellectual conversation, so intelligence is an important attribute for me. I’d like to say that I enjoy romantic walks on the beach as well, but I’m afraid I’ve never actually been to the beach before, so I cannot possibly know what walking along one is like._

_I’m not comfortable giving out my postal address at this moment, so please send your reply back to Matchmakers Anonymous with the inscription “Forward To My Match” on the front above the address. They’ll send it to me themselves. I’m not certain how they manage to get things like that done, but they ensured me that it works, so I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt._

_I look forward to hearing from you soon._

_Drake_

For some reason, the second he finished reading, Harry had a feeling that this one would work out better than the last few. The fellow had a sense of humour, took things far more lightly than his previous matches, and seemed intelligent and articulate. Harry was almost intimidated, in fact, by the letter with its intelligent handwriting and well-phrased sentences.

It didn’t stop him from picking up a quill and writing back as fast as he could, though.

***

Draco Malfoy knew he was often known as the boy who made all the wrong choices. What the late Professor Dumbledore said to him that fateful night all those years ago was something not particularly easy to forget. Yes, he had fucked up quite a few times, and made his share of mistakes. To be honest, he was starting to think he’d made another one.

His first “match” from that sodding dating agency had expressed an entire anti-Death Eater propaganda in their first exchange. Had the idiots at Matchmakers Anonymous not noticed the bit he filled in saying that he was a former Death Eater? What in Merlin’s name had possessed them to pair him with _that_ guy?

Although there were none worse than the first, the others came pretty close. Draco’s second match insisted on being called a variety of vulgar names that Draco preferred not to think about, his third elected to declare that Draco’s favourite books were boring, and the fourth was not nearly intelligent enough to understand any of Draco’s jokes. Really, Draco would have to talk to Astoria once this was done and inform her that this whole dating service thing wasn’t all it was cut out to be.

And then, finally, came a response to his introductory letter that didn’t make him want to cringe and lose his faith in humanity. It was written in a rather messy scrawl that Draco felt he had seen before, but for some reason, the lack of neatness didn’t bother him quite as much as he expected it to.

_Hi Drake,_

_I hope this letter finds you alright. It’s a pleasure to meet you! I’m not completely comfortable giving out my name yet, but you can call me H for the time being. I’m a Healer at St. Mungo’s and am within the same age range as you. I like reading, too, but I imagine that we read different sorts of books, because I’m more into lighter literature. What sort of books do you enjoy?_

_I can’t believe you’ve never been to the beach! I, for one, love taking walks there, although I’m not sure if somehow managing to get sand everywhere counts as romantic. Actually, I’m just a fan of taking walks anywhere at all. It’s a bit of a relaxant for me after a long day at work, as is a good cup of tea. As for hobbies, I can only saying that my work gives me the most enjoyment, as does a game of Quidditch. My friends and I make a habit of playing at least once every two weeks, and it’s my favourite sport of all time. Do you play, or are there other sports you enjoy?_

_Anyway, I’m not sure if my intelligence will quite measure up to what you’d like or expect, but we might as well give it a shot._

_Hope to hear from you soon!_

_H_

Draco quirked a smile at the writing. It seemed genuine and was witty enough, which Draco preferred to the stiff formality of some of his previous matches. Perhaps this thing would H would work.

“What are you grinning so idiotically about?”

Draco jerked out of his reverie sharply. He had been so immersed in the letter that he hadn’t heard the door opening and Pansy striding in. “Ever heard of knocking?” he asked irritably.

Pansy ignored him. “Why are you smiling like that? It isn’t even a smirk; it’s got warmth in it. That’s no good.”

“Sod off, Pansy.”

“I don’t think so,” she trilled, and she leaped across the room, grabbed at the letter in his hand and wrenched it easily out of his grip. A corner of the parchment ripped off and was all that remained in Draco’s hand.

“Hey!” he snapped.

Pansy shushed him and sat down, reading the letter intently. When she was done, she stared up at Draco worriedly. “This dating thing is a lot more dangerous than I thought.”

“What?” Draco demanded. “It’s the first letter I’ve gotten that isn’t from a complete idiot. I have a right to be glad for that.”

“You think this H guy _funny_ ,” Pansy accused.

“So what?” Draco snapped.

“These are all just words scribbled onto parchment, Dray!” Pansy exclaimed. “You’ve never even met him!”

“That’s the point, remember?” Draco said. “You set me up for this, Pansy. Now get off my case. What’s the matter, anyway? Shouldn’t you be jumping for joy?”

Pansy bit her bottom lip. “He’s too eager. A definite Gryffindor – I can _feel_ the presence of a lion in my bones.”

“What happened to getting to know others without pretences or first impressions?” Draco sighed. “Stop worrying. I don’t see why it’s a big deal.”

“You didn’t see the expression on your face,” Pansy responded. “It was frightening, Dray. It’s only the first letter and you’re getting _attached_.”

“I’m hopeful is all,” Draco replied easily.

Pansy rolled her eyes and went back to the letter, scanning through it again. “A Healer – a man with a hero complex. You don’t want one of those; they’re tedious things. I speak from experience.” She trailed her finger up and down the handwriting. “Into _lighter literature_...I wonder what that could mean? Oh, of course, he reads crap. Doesn’t that normally turn you off?” She paused again to search through the letter again. “He gets sand on everything – he’s clumsy, and if his writing is any indication, he’s messy, too. You can’t stand clumsy, messy people!” She scanned the note again. “Quidditch – at least one thing you have in common. You gave up on that after you had to sell your broom, though, and I’m not sure how convincing that will sound if you write him back. Which you definitely shouldn’t.”

Draco shook his head. “You’re reading too much into this, Pansy.”

She sighed and through the letter onto a table. “Fine. Do as you please. But mark my words, Draco Malfoy – if you, by some miracle, manage to make it far enough to introduce me to him, I guarantee that I will not like him.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m going to write him back now, if you don’t mind.”

Pansy huffed impatiently. “Suit yourself.” She stood up. “I’m going to wash my hands of this idiocy.”

“Oh, so you won’t mention it again, then?” Draco teased. 

Pansy sent him a glare before marching off. Draco almost didn’t catch it in his eagerness to grab a quill and write back.

***

Harry quite liked Drake, and the amount with which he liked this person he had neither met nor seen slightly worried him. He had no idea that it was possible to slowly fall for a person’s personality like this. In theory, he knew that it was plausible to like someone for who they were inside, and he was one of the many people who was guilty of often saying that to him, personality was the most important thing, but he’d never literally become completely crushed on a person based solely on that and nothing else.

“Maybe you’re getting ahead of yourself,” Hermione reasoned when he mentioned this passing thought to her. “Maybe it’s the excitement of finally finding someone who you click with.”

It was a possibility, for sure. But that didn’t explain why he nervously awaited each response to his letters and spent an increasingly long time coming up with replies that he hoped would seem intelligent and funny. He laughed and smiled each time he read one of Drake’s letters and only hoped that Drake was doing the same. One of the things he looked forward to the most was receiving Drake’s letters. He was getting a little obsessed.

It was a Sunday when Harry admitted these things to his two best mates. Ron looked at him, dumbstruck.

“You’re smitten with _letters_!” he exclaimed. “Mate, that’s really weird.”

“I think it’s lovely,” Hermione contradicted. “That means you two really do click. From what I’ve heard of him, he seems to be very clever, but more on the sneaky side, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

“So what you’re saying is he’s most likely a Slytherin,” Ron said.

“Ronald!”

“What?”

“It doesn’t matter what house he’s from, or if he even went to Hogwarts or whatever,” Hermione admonished him. “It’s like blood status – it’s irrelevant now.”

“Doesn’t mean I want Harry to go after some –”

“If Teddy was sorted into Slytherin, would you stop loving him?” Hermione demanded.

“Can we leave my godson out of this, please?” Harry groaned. He’d spent a lot of time with both Teddy and Andromeda since the war, and Hermione and Ron had come to care for the little Metamorphmagus just as much as Harry did. Harry didn’t think there was much of a possibility of Teddy getting sorted into Slytherin due to the houses of both his parents, but Harry knew that if he did, he wouldn’t hold it against him. It was just a house, after all, and amazing people had been in Slytherin. Merlin had been a Slytherin, hadn’t he? And if Drake was indeed a Slytherin, that was another great person to add to the list.

“Fine,” Ron snapped, breaking Harry out of his thoughts. “But if it’s someone like Nott –”

“ – then Harry is free to choose whoever he wants to be with,” Hermione finished firmly.

Harry was immensely grateful that his friends were relatively accepting of his situation, and that he could tell them about Drake without either of them getting bored (Hermione was always eager to listen to developments and Ron spluttered through half of the information). He told them about Drake’s Potions classes, which were for children aged three to seventeen (three-to-six-year-olds had sessions with their parents and mainly learned to identify different potions and ingredients, seven-to-ten-year-olds were separated based on exact age and learned how to prepare, clean, measure, and combine ingredients as well as make simple potions, and school-aged students did summer classes to prepare them for their next term), and he talked about Drake’s love for classics, even Muggle ones, which he only started reading after he graduated. He told them of Drake’s past playing Quidditch and how he had to sell his broom to afford to start his business and couldn’t possibly regret it (Ron suggested that Drake didn’t really play Quidditch and was just saying that to pretend he and Harry shared a common interest, but both Harry and Hermione thought the idea was rubbish). 

But there were things he didn’t tell them, like how Drake admitted to having a lot of embarrassing experiences with women before realising that it wasn’t what he was interested in the fair sex at all, or how Drake said that he had been taking a walk to clear his mind the other day and thought of Harry along the way. It was really rather silly, how this relationship was working out and turning from casual witty conversation, to exchanges about their days at work and swapped stories regarding patients and students, and finally to what could only be described as flirting. Harry wasn’t sure how you could flirt through handwritten notes, but he knew it was working on him.

Harry learned a lot about Drake over the next few weeks, and it came to the point where he really, really wanted to meet in person, so he did the only thing he could think of: he decided to ask Drake on a date. It might be another one of his not-so-well-thought-out decisions, because if Drake wasn’t even willing to reveal his address, he probably wasn’t going to want to reveal himself, but Harry was used to taking risks and this was no different.

Didn’t stop him from being nervous when he wrote the letter out, though.

***

For Draco, things were going excellently with H. He came to look forward to receiving his messages and couldn’t help smiling as he read each one. Pansy still disapproved, though.

“Oh, ignore her,” Astoria told him when he complained. “She’s just sore that you’ve got a fantastic match. I can’t believe how well you two get along – I’ve read some of those letters while you weren’t looking.” She winked. “I didn’t know you could be quite so seductive.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “It’s just a little flirting. No harm done.”

“I do agree with her, though,” Astoria went on. “Possibly a Gryffindor. Most likely has a hero complex. A bit all over the place – messy, even. Seems smart enough to hold a conversation, though. And definitely exceedingly kind, which is going to make him look like a bloody saint next to you.”

Draco rolled his eyes again. “Hilarious.”

“Not that you aren’t capable of compassion if you just try,” she added. 

“You think he’d mind, if I wasn’t as compassionate as he?” Draco asked suddenly.

Astoria shook her head. “You don’t have to be someone else just to impress him.”

“I’m not trying to impress him.”

“Yeah, right.”

She _was_ right, though. Draco wanted to impress H, just a little. He had the personality of someone Draco would love to know personally and consider an acquaintance, and Draco seemed to have a bit of a fondness for him, even though they’d never met. While he could get bored listening to Pansy drone on about her day, he loved reading H’s stories about his patients’ antics and his more interesting work days, and he supposed he wouldn’t mind hearing them, either. He had learned a lot about H over the past two months, and he wasn’t averse to learning more. It was an almost dangerous notion, but it gave Draco a bit of a thrill. There was still, however, an ever-present doubt about what H would think when he saw Draco in person.

“I think that’s your owl,” Astoria said suddenly, pointing at the open window. Draco glanced up just in time to see it swoop in through the opening and land easily on his shoulder. Draco stroked its feathers absentmindedly before untying the letter attached to its leg, trying to ignore the way his heart was already beating a little bit faster because he knew who the message was from.

“What does it say?” Astoria asked innocently, moving to stand behind Draco and attempting to peer over his shoulder as he unfolded the letter and read it.

_Hi Drake,_

_It’s great to hear that your students are improving. I remember having a lot of trouble remembering ingredients when I was first learning, and I didn’t even know what an Infusion of Wormwood was. To be honest, I think I’ve rather forgotten, now._

_My week’s been pretty uneventful. There was a bit of a mess in surgery when someone accidentally cast the wrong Healing Charm over a patient and caused a bit of internal bleeding and skin irritation, but I think we fixed the problem alright. Well, that wasn’t a pleasant topic at all, was it? Sorry about that. There isn’t much to talk about when half the people you deal with have a walnut jammed up their nose._

_Anyway, I was wondering if you’d like to continue this conversation face-to-face? You could remind me what aconite is while you’re at it, and fill my head with all the Potions knowledge I’ve forgotten, and maybe I won’t have to triple-check with my nurse regarding Potions prescriptions any more. The point is, I’d really like to meet you, and if you’re agreeable, you can set the time, date and place if you like._

_Have a good day!_

_H_

Something settled in Draco’s stomach then – a mixture of fear and exhilaration. He wasn’t sure which emotion was ruling his brain right now, but he was pretty sure it was the former.

“No,” Draco said shortly, in response to Astoria’s expectant glance. “No. We’re not meeting yet. It’s too soon –”

“So you’re just going to exchange tales about students and people with walnuts in various orifices for a year?” Astoria rebutted. “There’s no way you’ll be able to hold out that long. Admit it, ‘Drake’. You want to meet him as much as he wants to meet you.”

“Don’t call me that,” Draco snapped. “And no, I don’t.”

“Stop being an idiot,” Astoria rebuked. “The worst thing that can happen is that he doesn’t like what he sees, and in that case, he wouldn’t be worth it and you would have wasted time – nothing more, nothing less.”

But Draco had grown attached to his exchanges with H, and the possibility of not being able to continue sending and receiving letters with this mysterious man frightened him. He wasn’t going to admit it, of course. Well, he didn’t have to. Astoria saw right through him.

“You can always ask for more time,” Astoria suggested reasonably. “H doesn’t seem like the type of person to push you into anything you aren’t alright with.”

Draco nodded. “I know.” He shook his head. “This is ridiculous. I’m getting worked up over nothing. For fuck’s sake, I’ve never even met him. It shouldn’t matter what he thinks of me. And it doesn’t.”

Astoria looked at him with something akin to sympathy in her eyes. Draco wasn’t sure he liked it. “Of course not,” she conceded. “It’s up to you, anyway.”

“Right,” Draco said. “Of course it is.” He wasn’t going to accept. He’d tell H it was too soon, and they’d meet sometime else, when Draco was more comfortable. It wasn’t like they were _that_ eager to see each other. Draco definitely didn’t want to see him right away; there was no need to rush, and it wasn’t like –

Three days later, Draco wrote to H and gave him a time, date and venue.

***

Harry had the worst case of butterflies on his way to the Muggle cafe that Drake had named for their first meeting. He wasn’t sure why Drake preferred to meet at a non-magical venue, but it would keep him away from prying eyes, so he was definitely happy with that decision. Just because he would be away from reporters and journalists didn’t mean he was any less nervous, though. In fact, Harry was shifting nervously from foot to foot, which was difficult to do when you were trying to walk in a straight line. A part of him was worried about what the implications of his being the one and only Golden Boy would mean to this budding relationship, but mostly he was anxious that Drake wouldn’t like him. What happened if that was the case? Could they still talk, anyway?

He eventually arrived at Common Grounds, the cafe they’d agreed to meet at. It was small and cosy, which Harry supposed was as good an atmosphere as any for a first date. That’s what this was, right? Drake had said he’d be wearing a light blue shirt and would have a black jacket over the back of his chair, so Harry was fairly certain that he’d be able to find him. 

Harry glanced around the room once, twice, and then he saw him – a blond sitting in the far corner, visible from the side, an arm draped carelessly over the chair next to his, a powder blue long-sleeved shirt covering most of his frame and a black jacket stretched across his chair. His face was turned away at the moment, as though he had caught sight of something interesting outside the window, so Harry couldn’t see his features, but he expected that he would soon enough. 

Harry’s feet carried him towards Drake before he could overthink it. “Hi,” he said, his nerves acting up again and making his throat constrict. He cleared it and tried again. “Hi, I’m –” He cut himself off suddenly when his match turned to face him and grey eyes met his.

Sitting in the chair directly in front of him and undoubtedly awaiting his arrival was Draco Malfoy.

***

Draco couldn’t help his jaw dropping in shock when he realised that the H he had been communicating with for the past couple of months was the one and only Harry fucking Potter. He could almost feel all the hopes he held for this working out completely crumble as they stared at each other for several seconds, neither knowing exactly what should be done in a situation like this one. His mind raced as he searched for alternative explanations – maybe Potter had seen him and wanted to say hello? – but he instantly knew that none of them were even remotely probable, because H had said he’d be wearing grey, and Potter was dressed in a dark slate, long-sleeved button-down.

“Potter,” Draco finally said. “You’re H?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Potter said slowly. “You’re Drake?”

“Obviously,” Draco responded, rolling his eyes. 

Potter coughed nervously. “Well, this is...unexpected.”

“To say the least,” Draco stated. He made a grab for his jacket. “I suppose I’ll...” But before he could finish voicing his decision to leave, Potter slid into the chair across him. 

“Might as well catch up,” Potter explained. 

Draco wanted to mention that they didn’t really have much to catch up on, since they’d never been friends, but the truth was he didn’t really want to leave, either. There was a sort of curiousity involved when it came to Potter, sort of like seeing something gruesome or extremely odd and wanting to look away but staring anyway. It was a morbid fascination. Draco briefly wondered if Potter was just as interested as he was.

“So...a teacher, huh?” Potter ventured after a few moments.

“I was just as surprised as you were,” Draco replied. He wasn’t sure why he was going along with this small talk thing, but for some reason, he didn’t feel at all opposed to it. “Though your career option is much more predictable. A Healer, Potter? Still need to be a hero?”

Potter quirked a smile, which was a reaction Draco hadn’t been expecting. Potter looked rather nice when he smiled.

“Everyone keeps telling me that,” Potter said. “I guess you could say I’m still very much conceited by the whole boy-who-did-stuff thing.”

“It took you long enough to admit it,” Draco replied. “Frankly, I’m impressed. You managed to fool me into thinking you were someone entirely different.”

Potter laughed a bit, and Draco decided he sort of liked how Potter looked when he laughed, too.

“You would have known, if you’d bothered to find out,” Potter chuckled. “When Hermione read the letters from you, she determined that you were a Slytherin rather quickly. If I’d bothered to compare Drake to everyone in Hogwarts, I’d have realised it was you.”

Draco knew he was probably right. Pansy had nearly described Potter to a T when she read the letters. He should have known exactly what he was getting himself into. “How’s work?” he asked conversationally.

“It’s not too good,” Potter replied. “Remember that patient I wrote you about? Shanon? Remember when I said I thought I’d found the solution to her condition?”

“Yes.”

“We tried it out today,” Potter said quietly, and Draco caught a flash of sadness in his eyes. “It didn’t work.”

“I’m sorry,” Draco said, and it was probably the first time he’d ever apologised for anything in his life.

“No, it’s alright,” Potter stated. “I just...wish I could help her.” 

For some odd reason, Draco felt a strong urge to hug him or comfort him or just do something. He settled for saying, “It isn’t your fault. You’re doing the best you can.”

“I know,” Potter replied. He shook his head, then said, “Anyway, enough doom and gloom from me. How’s your work doing?”

So Draco told him exactly how it was. Strangely enough, it was easy to talk to him regardless of the fact that he and Potter had never gotten along before this. Potter was, surprisingly, a very good listener. Draco told him about a parent who had caused a lot of trouble for him by accusing him of attempting to brainwash his students, and then about a group of his ten-year-old pupils who had surprised him with a really big cake for no reason in particular. Draco even found himself laughing a few times with Potter, and intentionally trying to be funny just to hear him laugh again. Eventually he realised that his usual sarcastic comments actually made Potter laugh the most. The fact pleased him, although he wasn’t sure why.

It was two hours later when they decided to call it a night.

“So I guess this is it, huh?” Potter asked as they walked out of the cafe.

Draco nodded firmly. “Yes. I’ll write to the service and have our matches changed.”

“Yeah,” Potter said hurriedly. “Great. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Potter ran a hand through his hair, messing it up. It was a good look for him. Not that Draco ever thought of things like that. “Umm, bye then,” Potter said.

Draco smirked and nodded again. “Goodbye.”

Draco watched as Potter walked off down the street. It was really unfortunate how things turned out. He would have really liked to get to know the H he met through the letters. But he couldn’t allow himself to befriend someone like Potter; even in a purely platonic relationship, they’d never work out. He was a hero, and Draco was far from. This was just another one of those things he would have to let go.

***

“So, let me get this straight,” Ron said. “The guy who you were going all crazy over was _Malfoy_?”

His face concealed somewhere beneath his hands, Harry nodded slowly. He felt nothing short of awful and his chest felt really funny, as though it was being compressed. After all that build up and his ill-timed decision to nearly fall head over heels for someone he’d never met – or, rather, thought he’d never met – he felt strangely hollow. Was it weird to grieve over a relationship he’d never had?

Yeah, it probably was.

Was it also weird that he felt as if he had just been broken up with, even though he hadn’t actually been involved with Drake and he couldn’t possibly fathom going out with someone like Malfoy?

Yes, it definitely was.

“I’m sorry, mate,” Ron said after a long silence. 

Harry made a muffled, noncommittal noise in acknowledgement.

“Look, Harry,” Hermione began.

Ron cut her off. “I don’t think he’s in the mood for a lecture, Hermione.”

Hermione studiously ignored him. “Harry, I know this is really hard for you, and I’m sorry it turned out this way. But remember what I said before? You’re free to choose whoever you want to be with. What Ron and I have are only opinions. It’s your decision in the end. You make it happen.”

“What are you saying?” Harry groaned. “That I should go after this ‘Drake’ guy I thought I liked from the letters? He doesn’t exist, Hermione! There’s only Malfoy there. What I wanted to do was get to know someone without first impressions and pretences, but I ended up doing the exact opposite. I thought Drake was some nice guy. Turns out there _is_ no ‘Drake’. Just Malfoy.”

“Drake _is_ Malfoy,” Hermione replied. “Don’t you see? You did exactly what you wanted to! You got to know Malfoy without the first impressions and pretences, without your shared history or your personal judgement of him. Drake is who Malfoy really is, not the Malfoy we know from Hogwarts.”

Harry glanced away. There was some truth in her statement, but he daren’t hope... “Hermione, he doesn’t want to have anything to do with me,” he said firmly. “He was the one who said he’d change our matches. That’s a sign enough. I’ve cancelled my application anyway. There’s too much rubbish in this whole anonymous dating thing. I’m not going to do this anymore.”

“Is it because there’s too much rubbish, or is it because you’ve found the right person and you know no one else will cut it anymore?” Hermione challenged.

“Are you seriously encouraging him to date Malfoy?” Ron questioned incredulously.

“I’m encouraging him to be happy,” Hermione argued. “Which he deserves to be, even if it has to be with someone like Malfoy.”

“Were neither of you listening?” Harry demanded. “I said he isn’t interested!”

“Sure he’s not,” Hermione said. “But what’s the harm in trying?”

Harry could think of a lot of ways this could be harmful, but since he’d done many harmful things before, he couldn’t find a good reason not to try anyway.

***

Neither Pansy nor Astoria seemed as surprised as Draco was when he told them who H really was. Pansy had shrieked “I warned you! I _warned_ you!” and spent approximately forty-two minutes gloating, and Astoria’s eyes had widened as she expressed her shock and indignation along with him for all of three minutes before she sighed and admitted, “But it does make sense though.”

Draco brushed it off and assured them that he couldn’t care less and that he was going to have his match changed, but when he took his quill in hand to write to Matchmakers Anonymous, he ended up cancelling his membership instead. He was sick of dating services. Things worked out a lot better if you had the person right in front of your very eyes. That way, there was no chance of you mistaking Harry Potter for a potential love interest.

“Is something...wrong, Teacher Draco?” Rob asked quietly after one of his classes. Rob often had to wait for about half an hour before his mom was able to get off work to pick him up. Draco didn’t mind – the kid was good company.

“Not at all, Robby,” he assured his student. “I’m just thinking.”

“Is it...about...love?”

Draco choked on his tea. “What?”

Rob shrugged. “I dunno. Mom used to get...all sad and look like that when...she thought about Dad. I...just thought maybe it was that.”

Draco felt his heart soften just slightly. “No, it isn’t.” At least, he didn’t think so. “I’m just coming up with the next Potions class idea.”

“Can I help?” piped up Rob.

“Sure thing,” Draco smiled. 

The subject, however, didn’t quite leave Draco’s mind as he drew up the next few class plans with many eager suggestions from Rob. He should really stop thinking about Potter. Potter wasn’t H, wasn’t who Draco thought he was. It was an unfortunate loss, but there was no reason for him to dwell on it for too long. He’d stop thinking about it right now.

Yeah. That’d work.

***

Things were often easier said than done. That was all Harry had learned so far from his experience with Drake, or Malfoy, or whoever he was. 

“Are you alright, Harry?” Luna asked as Harry nearly dropped his coffee when he accidentally tripped over his own feet for the fifth time.

“Yeah,” Harry lied, grinning sheepishly. Luna gave him a sweeping, slightly disbelieving glance (was it disbelieving? It was sort of hard to tell with Luna) before turning and skipping off, probably to discuss Aquavirius Maggots or something like that with a patient.

Harry was decidedly not alright at all, he realised, when he took the wrong turn thrice on his way to The Janus Thickey Ward. He was so not alright that even Agnes, who was usually relatively lost in her own world unless you tried to make direct conversation with her, barked sharply when he stepped in haphazardly and nearly slipped on the floor. When had the floors become so polished, anyway?

“Is something the matter, Healer?” Shanon asked, looking mildly concerned as Harry righted himself and grinned sheepishly at her.

“Got a lot on my mind is all,” he replied. She hadn’t seemed to have aged much for a while. He took it as a sign that the mixture of Slowing Charms and Healing Charms that he was using on her was working, if only temporarily. At least some things were going right.

“Affairs of the heart?” she chuckled.

“How did you know?” he grinned, slightly embarrassed. Was it really that obvious?

“Looking this old seems to have its benefits,” she said seriously. “I seem to have acquired added wisdom.”

Harry chuckled. “Sure.”

Shanon glanced at the clock on the wall. “You have ten minutes, right? Sit here and talk to me.”

Harry sighed and did as she requested. He did this some mornings when he had time to spare, just to check on her and see how things were going. 

“So who’s the lucky lady whose got your wand in a knot?” Shanon questioned.

Harry grimaced. “It’s not a lady, actually.”

“Oh,” Shanon said. “Well, I haven’t had a paper in months! Where do you expect me to get this news if you don’t tell me, hmm?”

“Careful,” Harry chuckled. “I’m still technically older than you.”

Shanon rolled her eyes. “By a year. That doesn’t count.”

“Yes it does.”

“Don’t you dare distract me, young man!” she scolded. “Tell me who the boy on your mind is!”

Harry laughed slightly. “He’s...well...an old acquaintance.”

“Ah,” she said solemnly. “A rival, I presume?”

“Where are you getting all this stuff?” Harry asked. 

“Like I said, added wisdom.” Shanon tapped her head lightly. “It’s one of the many benefits of this curse, another being the fact that I get to lie in bed all day and have people bring me stuff.” She shook her head suddenly. “Wait, you’re distracting me again.”

Harry smiled. “You caught me.”

“Go on then.”

Harry placed his elbows on his knees and leaned forward so that his chin was resting on his fists. “I like him, I think. I’m not really sure. We sort of met again through an anonymous means, and I got to know him without knowing who he was, and I really liked that version of him. Then we found out we were communicating with each other and...” He trailed off.

Shanon did the exact thing Harry hadn’t expected her to do – she started giggling.

“I’m glad you find my suffering amusing,” Harry groaned.

“I’m sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “It’s just so much like a sappy love story you read in novels.”

“Except I’m not getting the guy here,” Harry reminded her.

“Seeing as you’re sitting your arse on my bed, it’s no surprise.”

“Hey, you’re the one who told me to sit here.”

Shanon smiled. “Look, have you actually tried telling him how you feel?”

“He doesn’t feel the same. I’d be causing problems over nothing.”

“And you complain that you’re not getting the guy.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “We keep coming back to that, don’t we?”

“Healer...” she started, then stopped and started again. “Harry, you don’t know what’ll happen until you try. You have to tell him. I won’t stand for you eating yourself up like this. How can you possibly hope to care for your patients when you can’t even care for yourself?”

If Shanon were anyone else, Harry would have probably argued, but her appearance and overall air of being a senior citizen made Harry feel the need to do exactly what she asked out of respect. Perhaps she knew that and was using it to her advantage; Harry didn’t know for sure.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said feebly. “I can do my job, I can move on from this. It’s not a big deal.”

“It clearly is,” Shanon retaliated, but Harry could hear her voice getting softer – she was becoming tired, which happened easily. “We patients really care about you, Harry, and we want the best for you. Isn’t that right, Agnes?”

Agnes jolted out of a reverie and barked enthusiastically. Harry offered her a small smile.

Just then, Luna poked her head in through the door of the ward. “Harry, your first appointment has arrived early.”

Harry sighed and forced himself to stand up. “Right. Thanks, Luna.” 

“Also, Andromeda Firecalled,” Luna added. “She needs a favour. She’ll be occupied this evening and needs you to pick Teddy up from class for her after you’re done with work. She gave me the address.” She held out a slip of parchment.

Harry took it, glanced at it once and pocketed it. He was used to picking Teddy up from classes when Andromeda became suddenly otherwise engaged up, and buying groceries for Teddy that she’d forgotten while at the stores. Still, he only got off work at six o’clock that evening, so Teddy would have to wait a while. “Alright. Thanks again.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Luna smiled reassuringly before she skipped off, leaving the door slightly ajar so Harry could leave behind her.

“Think about what I said, Harry,” Shanon murmured. Harry turned to say something to her, but she seemed to have drifted off into sleep.

***

It was ten minutes past six, and Draco was starting to worry. He had another class starting in twenty minutes for the nine-year-olds, and one student from his seven-year-old class hadn’t been picked up yet. In fact, Rob was already here and was making a new friend with the younger boy.

If Draco’s still-present student hadn’t been related to him, he would have probably felt alright leaving him unattended for a while if he had to go in and start teaching before he was picked up, but this was Teddy, and Draco didn’t want to have to leave him in the back of the classroom or, even worse, out here in the waiting room because Andromeda hadn’t picked him up yet. He was very protective over his baby cousin and would prefer if he was within his line of vision at all times.

“How old are...you?” Rob was asking his new friend.

“Seven,” said Teddy quietly, and his hair turned red, as if it was symbolising his shyness.

“Woah!” Rob gaped. “Can your hair...always do that?”

Teddy nodded, and Draco had half a mind to pull him away to somewhere more private due to the frightened look on his face. 

Meanwhile, Rob was staring at Teddy in unashamed awe. “That’s...wicked!” he exclaimed. 

Teddy suddenly looked surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah!” Rob grinned. “Do it again!”

Draco smiled indulgently as Teddy gained a little confidence and began to put on a show, turning his hair an array of different colours before adding his eyes into the mix. If nothing else, Teddy’s abilities were highly endearing and often amusing. 

At that exact moment, the door swung open and Draco glanced up, ready to berate his aunt for being exactly twenty-five minutes late, but his mind skidded to a halt when he realised who had just come striding into his little tuition centre.

“Potter?” Draco exclaimed, unable to stop himself. How was this possible? Had Potter decided to find out where he worked? Stalk him? 

“Malfoy?” Harry responded, looking just as shocked as Draco felt. Before he could say anything, however, Teddy leaped up from where he was sitting.

“Harry!” the little boy grinned, and Draco turned to him and saw that his hair had turned jet black and his eyes, bright green. 

“Hey Teddy!” Potter smiled, leaning down to greet Draco’s cousin. Draco suddenly remembered that Potter was Teddy’s godfather. How could he have forgotten this detail? Surely if he had remembered, his heart wouldn’t be beating quite as quickly as it was now.

Potter looked...good, to say the least. Tired, perhaps, but good. Draco had the sudden image of Potter coming home after a long day of work and smiling at him pass through his head. He shuddered and shoved it away.

“You’re late,” Teddy accused sourly.

“I am,” Potter agreed. “Sorry about that, buddy.”

“You should be,” Draco said, and his voice came out just a little colder than he’d meant it. “Time is of the essence. I have another class starting very soon.”

“Yeah, well I said I was sorry,” Potter retaliated, sounding annoyed. Good. “There was an emergency at work.”

Draco made a non-committal noise.

“So, you’re Teddy’s Potions teacher,” Potter said.

“An enlightening observation,” Draco replied coolly.

Potter rolled his eyes, but his attention was diverted by Rob walking up to him slowly. Draco wondered what the friendly little boy was going to do now. He could probably sense the tension in the room and was going to try to rectify it in his own little way. What Rob said to do so, however, completely took Draco aback.

“Healer Potter? Are you...Healer Potter?”

Potter glanced down, surprised, and Draco saw his face light up considerably. “Rob? Is that you? I haven’t seen you in ages!” he exclaimed. “How’ve you been?”

“Okay,” Rob said. “I only need...one of the potions now! The pur...ple one,” he announced, puffing his chest out proudly.

“That’s great,” Potter smiled genuinely, and Draco hadn’t the slightest idea what was going on. “Told you you’d get better, big strong boy like you.”

Rob grinned, happy with the compliments, and Draco cleared his throat.

Potter started. “Right. Anyway, Teddy and I had best be going,” he said. “Keep in touch, kay, Rob? You know where to find me.” Potter’s gaze shifted upwards to meet Draco’s, and for a second it looked as though he wanted to say something important, but then he seemed to deflate. “It was nice seeing you again, Malfoy,” Potter smiled, and then he and Teddy had left the centre, Teddy waving until they were out of sight.

“Who was that?” Draco asked Rob once Potter and Teddy had disappeared.

“Healer Potter, of...course!” Rob exclaimed. “Mom says he’s very famous. He made...me better!” he added proudly.

“Lovely,” Draco said absentmindedly. “You mean he was your Healer, when you got hurt?”

“Yup!” Rob chirped. “He’s really cool. He always...snuck my toys in even though the nurses...said no.”

“Did he now?” Draco asked, only half paying attention. Here was a side to Potter he had not anticipated. Potter had been the one to cure his favourite student, and Draco felt his gratefulness towards the man grow. Fantastic – now he had something else to think about whenever Potter crossed his mind, which happened quite often nowadays.

***

“I’m going to do it!” Harry declared loudly over lunch with Ron and Hermione. He was on his one hour lunch break and his nerves were shot, which is probably why he was dangerously close to sounding more hysterical than sane. 

“That’s brilliant, mate,” Ron said, exchanging a glance with Hermione. “No need to tell the world.”

“What are you going to do, exactly?” Hermione questioned, concern already colouring her eyes.

“I’m going to tell Malfoy that I like him!” Harry informed them. “I know where he works now, and I can always pick up Teddy again and make an excuse to tell him –”

“Look, mate, just because seeing him unexpectedly made you feel some feelings –” began Ron.

“Ronald!” Hermione snapped.

“It’s a lot of coincidence, though, isn’t it?” Ron argued. “Teddy just so happens to go to Malfoy’s class, and Rob just so happens to be one of Malfoy’s students, and Malfoy _just so happens_ to be Drake!”

“So it’s fate!” exclaimed Hermione. “Destiny!”

“Bullocks!” Ron shot back, and Harry rather agreed with him. “Trust you to turn everything into a fairy tale. It’s a conspiracy!” 

Well, now Harry didn’t agree so much anymore.

“To do what? Make Harry fall for him?” Hermione snorted.

“Must every conversation we have turn into a battle between the two of you?” Harry interrupted. “My point is that I’m going to tell him, and I’m going to try to get him to go out with me, and –”

“You’d better do a better job courting him than you did Ginny,” Hermione said impatiently. “Don’t forget that his feelings are involved in this.”

“When are you going to do it, anyway?” Ron questioned.

“Do what?” Harry asked.

“Start ‘courting him’ or whatever.”

“I’m going to go to his tuition centre right after work today,” Harry said, sounding more convinced as his voice was rose slightly, turning his statement into a declaration. “And if he says no, then I’ll just try again later until he agrees.”

“He’ll get a restraining order,” Ron muttered.

“No he won’t,” Hermione admonished.

“We’ll see about that,” Ron snorted.

Harry thought about it all the way as he walked back into work. He realised that his chances with Malfoy were, indeed, rather slim, which is why he expected he’d have to put in a lot of work and effort into going after him. Now that he thought about it, Malfoy seemed to have all the makings of someone slightly more high-maintenance than he was used to, but the idea only seemed to appeal to him even more.

There was a part of Harry, however, that was worried that he was chasing after Drake and not Malfoy, and that he wouldn’t find him, no matter how hard he looked or tried. But that wasn’t true, was it? Malfoy _was_ Drake, after all. Perhaps if Harry had tried to get to know Malfoy properly at Hogwarts in their first year instead of blowing him off, they would have been great friends. For the first time since First Year, Harry regretted not taking Malfoy’s offered hand.

No more of that now; no more regrets. Harry was definitely going to visit Malfoy after work today. He’d ask if they could start again and try to at least be friends because he knew Malfoy liked H as much as Harry liked Drake. He was certain Malfoy wouldn’t be completely averse to it, in fact –

“Harry?”

Harry nearly dropped his clipboard, having not realised that he wasn’t alone in his consultation room. “Luna!” he exclaimed. 

“Some Potion-makers sent in a new set of Potions for Shanon,” she said, gesturing to several multi-coloured vials that she had probably spent a long time arranging perfectly on his table. “I was just setting them up in order. Are you alright, Harry? You seem occupied.”

“I’m fine,” Harry grinned. Wasn’t this whole saying-you’re-fine-when-you’re-not rigmarole supposed to be a girl thing? 

“Alright,” Luna conceded, and she made her way towards his door to leave. When she opened it, however, she paused, staring into a spot in the distance for several seconds.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“Harry,” she said slowly, “I think there’s someone here to see you.”

Harry cocked an eyebrow. “How do you know?”

Luna turned to him and smiled. “Oh, Harry, do you really think I didn’t know? The Wrackspurts are really quite telling.”

“Luna, what are you on about?” he sighed. He wasn’t sure if he was in the mood for something like this. He didn’t need Luna to tell him his head was full of weird creatures – he already knew _that_.

“Well, Draco’s just come out of the lift and he’s walking in this direction,” Luna said.

Harry almost didn’t realise what she was saying. When he did, though, he nearly jumped clean out of his skin. He rushed to the door, tripping over a chair as he went, and nearly stumbled on his own feet three times before he reached it and stared out beside Luna. Malfoy was, indeed, walking out of the lift as they spoke, and was glancing around nervously, scanning the door labels. Harry daren’t hope that Malfoy was here for him. But how had Luna...?

“I’ll go call him, shall I?” Luna questioned.

“Wait –” Harry began, but she’d already starting skipping off, and he had no choice but to watch all further developments by peering out of the slight opening of his door. He observed as Luna made her way to Malfoy and greeted him with a smile and the genuinely surprised look on Malfoy’s face when he saw her. Harry was pleasantly startled by the way Malfoy spoke to her – clearly very kindly and with a similar smile, although his was more of a smirk, naturally.

And then Luna gestured in Harry’s general direction and Harry rushed to duck for cover before he was seen.

A few seconds later, there was a knock on the door. Heart suddenly racing and head suddenly spinning, Harry moved to open it, and there stood Malfoy, his grey eyes deep and pensive as Harry remembered them, but also so very open in a way that gave Harry a peculiar ache in his chest.

“Potter,” Malfoy said, after a few moments.

“Malfoy,” Harry replied, as cordially as he could, trying very hard to stop his voice shaking.

They simply stood there, looking at everything but each other, for several seconds before Malfoy asked in a quiet voice, “Can I come in?”

Harry didn’t trust himself to speak, instead settling for nodding and moving away from the door to let him through. Malfoy stepped in calmly and Harry couldn’t help staring at the minute grace in each movement Malfoy made. How had he never noticed it before?

“This is your office, then?” Malfoy questioned.

“I don’t know if you can call it that,” Harry replied. “It’s more of a room, really.” He abruptly closed his mouth to stop himself from babbling and shook his head, making himself focus. “Why are you here?” Not that he really wanted to question it or anything. Malfoy could come here as often as he wanted, and Harry would secretly relish it. It just seemed to be the correct question to ask in a situation like this one.

“I wanted to see you,” Malfoy replied, turning to face Harry properly. Harry could see some sort of expression in his eyes, but couldn’t figure out what it was.

“You beat me to it,” Harry admitted after a brief silence.

“Really?” Malfoy asked.

“Yeah, I was planning to go and visit you right after work,” Harry stated. 

Malfoy looked at him quizzically. “Why?”

Harry blinked. Surely it was obvious? Unless...had he read this all wrong? Was Malfoy here for some other reason, a professional one? “I...I just...” Harry trailed off awkwardly. “I thought maybe we’d discuss Teddy’s progress in Potions. When...when you wrote to me you never mentioned him as one of your favourites, and so I was just wondering, out of curiousity, how he was doing. That’s it, really. I have no other reasons, it’s just that Teddy –” Harry had to cut himself off, because all of a sudden, Malfoy was a bit too close, and he was smiling. Not that good-natured, polite smirk (if a smirk could be called polite) that he gave Luna outside, but an actual full-blown smile that Harry both wanted to see all the time and lock up so that it was only his forever.

“Potter?” Malfoy whispered.

Harry realised he was out of breath. Whether it was from the babbling or Malfoy’s close proximity or both, he wasn’t sure. “Yeah?” he managed.

“Shut up,” Malfoy said, and then he closed the distance between them.

Harry’s eyes slid shut as he felt Malfoy’s lips come into contact with his own, just a light brush, and for a second he wondered if he had died and gone to heaven. The fact that Malfoy was making him feel all of this at once was completely and utterly surreal. It was over in a split second, but even when he no longer felt Malfoy’s lips, Harry’s eyes remained closed. There was a sharp intake of breath, and then he felt a hand gently touch the skin on his cheek before Malfoy pressed their lips together again. This time, more pressure was applied, and Harry reached out to place a hand behind Malfoy’s neck, revelling in this new feeling. Malfoy’s lips were soft and warm, nervous and hesitant, and the vulnerability that Malfoy was displaying to Harry made him feel dangerously close to drowning, in the best way possible. Hell, he could die this way, right now, although that would probably be very inconvenient.

Eventually, Malfoy pulled away, and Harry’s eyes reopened. Malfoy was flushed and his hair was slightly mussed. Had Harry run his fingers through them? He couldn’t remember, which was a pity. He’d have to do it again next time, and make sure remember it perfectly. Next time! The thought made Harry feel impossibly light.

A knock on the door jarred Harry out of his half-dream state. “Healer Potter?” a nurse’s voice called. “Your three o’clock in here.”

Harry cleared his throat to make sure his voice had some semblance of normalcy about it. “Hang on a moment, please!” he called. He glanced apologetically at Malfoy. “Malfoy, I have to...” He gestured lamely at the door.

“I know,” Malfoy smirked. “And it’s Draco.”

Harry smiled. “Draco,” he said, testing the name out. It was weird, but a good weird.

Draco smiled in return. “Write me,” he said.

“I will,” Harry replied.

Draco began to walk towards the door. At last moment, however, he turned around. “Oh, Harry?”

Harry suppressed a shiver at how good his name sounded when Draco purred it that way. “Yeah?”

“One more thing,” Draco said, and then Harry found himself with an armful of Draco Malfoy, pressed against the wall and getting the life snogged right out of him. Draco’s lips moved against his searchingly, more roughly than they had just now, as though they were intent on drinking him in. Harry’s head was spinning and he felt his knees go weak beneath him. They would have definitely given out under him if he hadn’t been half-supported by the wall, which was frankly rather embarrassing because it was just a kiss, after all, but it was also a kiss with Draco Malfoy and that made it far more reasonable for Harry to be losing his ability to stand.

The door swung open suddenly with an audible creak. Every side of Harry’s brain told him they should probably stop snogging now, but he really didn’t want to. It was only when he heard and registered a little squeak of surprise that he allowed Draco to pull away from him. Harry turned around and saw his morning patient, one of the St. Mungo’s nurses, and Luna standing in the doorway. While Luna’s expression was smiling and pleasant, as though she had expected this the whole time, the other two parties were wearing looks of complete shock.

“I’ll see you around, Harry,” Draco said quietly, and Harry could do nothing but stare as Draco walked away calmly and gracefully, politely excusing himself so he could pass through the three people stood at the door. Harry didn’t understand why Draco was so naturally addictive. Whether it was when Harry stalked him in sixth year, or when he became obsessed with Drake, or how Harry had only just kissed him and already wanted so much more, he just couldn’t get enough of Draco Malfoy.

“Sorry about that,” Harry said sheepishly to his patient. “Mr Kendall, right? If you’d come in please and have a seat...”

Just before Harry closed the door, he caught a glimpse of Luna’s triumphant expression and wondered how on earth she’d known about Draco without him telling her. Oh well, that was probably something best saved for another time.

Still, as Harry sat down with his patient, he couldn’t help smiling a little more honestly. For now, he’d handle his appointments, figure out a way to cure Shanon, and deal with being known as the Wizarding World’s saviour. After this, though, at least he had something to look forward to, and his brain was already starting to plan things out. Maybe, after a few dinner dates, he’d take Draco to the beach and they’d have one of those long romantic walks that they’d both mentioned before. He’d probably get sand everywhere, but he was sure Draco wouldn’t mind. Besides, a part of him really wanted to see how Draco would look with windswept hair, a twinkle in his eyes and sand on his face and clothes. Harry smiled to himself. It was definitely something to add to his to-do list. 

Harry belatedly thought that he could have had the privilege of seeing such a sight already, if only he and Draco had befriended each other sooner. He might have already known all of Draco’s favourite authors and the way he preferred his tea and how each of his students gave him a distinct sort of joy. 

There were a lot of things Harry wanted to learn about Draco, and they had lost time to make up for. He couldn’t wait to get started.

_End_

  



End file.
